At Rainy Day Reviews you will find
my personal reviews on books as well as reading challenges, weekly memes I participate in, and all other bookish topics.
Thank you for stopping by my blog:) I hope you enjoyed yourself and hope to see you again:)

Monday, March 28, 2016

[Marilyn Monroe] was just like our whole country — not quite young
anymore, but not old either; a little breathless, very beautiful, maybe a
little stupid, maybe a lot smarter than she seemed, and she was looking for
something . . . She was never quite happy, she was always a little overweight.
She was just like our whole country.

I’m not sure why I picked that quotation from this book, but there’s
something that appealed to me about it (even if I don’t necessarily agree).
You’ll note that there are both upper and lower case letters there — Owen
Meany’s dialogue is always given to us in all caps. Which is annoying (it’s
supposed to be), and difficult to read in extended speeches (Owen’s voice is
hard to listen to), and makes you wish he’d shut up (duplicating the experience
of most people who heard him).

A medical explanation for this is given, eventually. But the only
explanation that Owen needs is that God gave him his voice. The same for his
diminutive stature (about 5′ 0″ as an adult) — God made him that way, for His
own reason.

But I’m getting ahead of myself — John Irving’s probably best known for
The World According to Garp, which
was one of the bigger disappointments of my college reading, so I wasn’t really
looking forward to spending more time with him. You add in the fact that this
is a 500+ page book with only nine chapters, and it’s downright intimidating.
I’m not going to say that you shouldn’t be intimidated and that it’s a pretty
easy read — it’s a challenge, it’s frequently a slog — but in the end, it’s
rewarding.

When the book starts, Johnny Wheelwright (the narrator) doesn’t seem
particularly fond of Owen Meany — in fact, you get the impression that he’s
just one of those kids he happens to know, and he’s not that happy about it.
But before long, it’s clear that he and Owen are really close — even though
(because?) Owen’s responsible for the greatest tragedy of Johnny’s childhood.

John finds himself as an observer to Owen’s life, as his defender, his
advocate, his way to the greater world. While Owen is constantly trying to help
his friend — help him to achieve, help him to think, help him to believe. It’s
a great friendship — and without the other, each was diminished. Owen less so,
but in important ways.

The narrative is rambling — John starts to tell us about something, the
plot moves forward a bit, but then he goes back in history to give context.
Sometimes weeks, sometimes years and far more detail than you think is
necessary. Eventually, you see that this is sort of the approach that the
overall narrative is taking — John has something he needs to tell the reader,
but he doesn’t want to. So he tells you many other things, anecdotes,
vignettes, details you don’t need — anything to delay what he wants to say. He
does get to it. And by that time, you’re not sure you want him to.

The story is told from the perspective of forty-something John, now a
teacher at a Private School in Toronto — he spends his days reading the news
about the United States, and ranting (or trying not to) to anyone near him
about what President Reagan is doing. I’m not sure why we spend so much time
dwelling on him in the present, we don’t need it — it adds almost nothing to
the narrative. If anything, I think it might lessen the impact of the rest. The
adult John telling the story about his childhood, about Owen, about their
growing up together, and so on is essential — we need his perspective, his
distance. What we don’t need is to hear John’s rants about Reagan, the poor
reading/study habits of teenage girls.

I’m not sure that I get a whole lot of understanding of New Hampshire
from this book — Owen’s family working in the granite industry doesn’t tell us
much, New Hampshire is The Granite
State — everyone who survived 4thgrade knows that. If anything, Irving was
wanting to talk about America — as an ideal, and as something that falls short
of that ideal. Monroe was one example, John Kennedy’s moral failings another,
Vietnam a recurring theme, and, of course, the Iran-Contra Scandal. Each of
these, as either a representative individual, or representative act,
demonstrates how far (in John’s/Owen’s view, at least) the United States has
fallen short of the ideals it should strive for — if not achieve.

Ultimately, when I enjoyed this book, it felt like it was in spite of
what I was reading. But I laughed, I cared, I kept reading — and then when I
was finished, I appreciated the work as a whole, and felt a lot more affection
for it than I expected. It’s hard to explain, but I liked this one and heartily
recommend it.

Html for those who want it:

[Marilyn Monroe] was just like our whole country --
not quite young anymore, but not old either; a little breathless, very
beautiful, maybe a little stupid, maybe a lot smarter than she seemed, and she
was looking for something . . . She was never quite happy, she was always a
little overweight. She was just like our whole country.

I'm not sure why I picked that quotation from this book, but there's
something that appealed to me about it (even if I don't necessarily agree).
You'll note that there are both upper and lower case letters there -- Owen
Meany's dialogue is always given to us in all caps. Which is annoying (it's
supposed to be), and difficult to read in extended speeches (Owen's voice is
hard to listen to), and makes you wish he'd shut up (duplicating the experience
of most people who heard him).

A medical explanation for this is given, eventually. But the only
explanation that Owen needs is that God gave him his voice. The same for his
diminutive stature (about 5' 0" as an adult) -- God made him that way, for
His own reason.

But I'm getting ahead of myself -- John Irving's probably best known
for The World According to Garp, which was one of the bigger
disappointments of my college reading, so I wasn't really looking forward to
spending more time with him. You add in the fact that this is a 500+ page book
with only nine chapters, and it's downright intimidating. I'm not going to say
that you shouldn't be intimidated and that it's a pretty easy read -- it's a
challenge, it's frequently a slog -- but in the end, it's rewarding.

When the book starts, Johnny Wheelwright (the narrator) doesn't
seemparticularly fond of Owen Meany --
in fact, you get the impression that he's just one of those kids he happens to
know, and he's not that happy about it. But before long, it's clear that he and
Owen are really close -- even though (because?) Owen's responsible for the
greatest tragedy of Johnny's childhood.

John finds himself as an observer to Owen's life, as his defender, his
advocate, his way to the greater world. While Owen is constantly trying to help
his friend -- help him to achieve, help him to think, help him to believe. It's
a great friendship -- and without the other, each was diminished. Owen less so,
but in important ways.

The narrative is rambling -- John starts to tell us about something,
the plot moves forward a bit, but then he goes back in history to give context.
Sometimes weeks, sometimes years and far more detail than you think is
necessary. Eventually, you see that this is sort of the approach that the
overall narrative is taking -- John has something he needs to tell the reader,
but he doesn't want to. So he tells you many other things, anecdotes,
vignettes, details you don't need -- anything to delay what he wants to say. He
does get to it. And by that time, you're not sure you want him to.

The story is told from the perspective of forty-something John, now a
teacher at a Private School in Toronto -- he spends his days reading the news
about the United States, and ranting (or trying not to) to anyone near him
about what President Reagan is doing. I'm not sure why we spend so much time
dwelling on him in the present, we don't need it -- it adds almost nothing to
the narrative. If anything, I think it might lessen the impact of the rest. The
adult John telling the story about his childhood, about Owen, about their
growing up together, and so on is essential -- we need his perspective, his
distance. What we don't need is to hear John's rants about Reagan, the poor
reading/study habits of teenage girls.

I'm not sure that I get a whole lot of understanding of New Hampshire
from this book -- Owen's family working in the granite industry doesn't tell us
much, New Hampshire is The Granite State -- everyone who
survived 4th grade knows that. If anything, Irving was
wanting to talk about America -- as an ideal, and as something that falls short
of that ideal. Monroe was one example, John Kennedy's moral failings another,
Vietnam a recurring theme, and, of course, the Iran-Contra Scandal. Each of
these, as either a representative individual, or representative act,
demonstrates how far (in John's/Owen's view, at least) the United States has
fallen short of the ideals it should strive for -- if not achieve.

Ultimately, when I enjoyed this book, it felt like it was in spite of
what I was reading. But I laughed, I cared, I kept reading -- and then when I
was finished, I appreciated the work as a whole, and felt a lot more affection
for it than I expected. It's hard to explain, but I liked this one and heartily
recommend it.